FAMILIAR SCENES ON THE MISSISSIPPI. 121 
Now, for the first time, could we learn our where: 
abouts. The broad bosom of the Mississippi stretched 
far to the front of us, while at the stern of our boat was 
one of those abrupt banks that denote a sudden bend in 
the river. This had deceived the pilot. On our right, 
within a few hundred yards, lay the shore, lined with 
huge trees, tangled with gigantic vines, and waving with 
festoons of moss, giving them a sombre appearance, that 
was singular and repulsive. Wild ducks and geese 
went screaming by, heron and crane innumerable would 
come near us, but discovering the dark form of our boat, 
fly precipitately away. 
The water glistened in the sun, and there would rise 
from its quiet surface little columns of mist, that would 
ascend high in the air, or sail along on the surface of 
the water, until striking the distant shore, they rolled 
over the landscape, enveloping parts in momentary ob- 
scurity,—and it was not until near noon that the fog 
entirely disappeared. Then the sun, as if incensed with 
the veil that had for a time kept it from its scorching 
work, poured down its heat with more intensity, leaving 
a foggy day, hotter before its close, than if the sun had 
been unobscured in its appearance in the morn. 
While sitting in the cabin, congratulating ourselves 
on the prospect of getting off the sand-bar, on which we 
had so long been detained, the report of a rifle was heard, 
fired from the deck, accompanied by a yell. 
Another rifle was discharged, and a loud Indian 
6 
